My Trip Down the Pink Carpet Read Online Free PDF

any of those people who gather at Star Trek conventions lurking about. Seeing a Ferengi boo-hooing on the toilet would be a Trekkie’s dream come true.
    I muddled through and they must have been pleased with the results because a week later, my agent called. “They want to bring your character back. And guess what? All your scenes will be with Whoopi Goldberg.”
    “I don’t care if my scenes are with Jesus Christ,” I said. “I don’t want to be a Ferengi ever again. Do you hear me? I don’t want to be on Star Trek. ”
    From then on, whenever I was asked to lose my accent, I would respond by doing the audition over again—exactly the same way. The producers and the director would all just stare at me, not quite knowing what to say. I’m sure I lost a lot of jobs that way, but I didn’t care. I was just being myself.

Monkey See, Monkey Do

    Do you really want to hurt me?
    Culture Club
    I WAS once hired to play a monkey in a Japanese sake commercial with Boy George. I was to lead Boy George across the desert while he sat on a white horse in full geisha drag, sipping sake. There would also be a dancing pig and a big green bird.
    We were told these were very recognizable Japanese fairy-tale characters.
    We were all hauled out to the middle of the Mojave Desert in California: Boy George, his entourage, the actor playing the dancing pig, the actor playing the big green bird, myself, and a Japanese film crew of forty people. The crew did not speak a word of English. We were put up in the town of Baker, which was tiny. The only restaurant sat right across the street from our seedy motel. It was called the Bun Boy. Boy George thought that was hilarious.
    I had to be in the makeup chair at three o’clock in the morning to be ready to go when the cameras rolled at eight. I had to lie still with straws up my nose for hours and hours. It was excruciatingly uncomfortable. And I thought show business was going to be glamorous!
    The makeup artist was Rick Baker, who has won trillions of Oscars for his movie makeup magic. I emerged from the makeup trailer looking like a punk monkey with a huge Patti La-Belle hairdo. I was also fitted with fake monkey teeth and gold-specked contact lenses. I was then strapped into a kimono with six-foot flags sticking straight up.
    By the time I was ready to go, I was exhausted. I called my agent in tears, begging him to get me out of this unholy situation. The only food was sushi that had been sitting in the desert sun for hours. The Japanese must have stomachs of iron. I, however, do not.
    Getting Boy George to emerge from his trailer was such an ordeal. He’s amazingly quick and clever but a tad mean-spirited. I was expecting someone dainty and ladylike. He’s like a football player with a dress on. Trust me, you do not want to mess with him. When they finally got him out of his trailer, tottering about on his wooden geisha shoes, he started in on the wardrobe lady.
    “For God’s sake, this kimono is like a cheap hotel. There is no ballroom!” He then started grabbing and pulling at his crotch.
    Once the wardrobe issues had been handled, he began to pull all kinds of other shenanigans. For one, he refused to get on the horse.
    “I’m not getting on that horse. I do not remember this being in my contract. I am frightened of horses! I’m going back to London immediately !”
    Then someone from his entourage hollered, “George, be a good fairy and get on the horse!”
    “I am a good fairy! Poof! You’re a pile of shit! I’m not getting on that horse!”
    I explained to him through my heinous monkey mask and fake teeth that this horse was, first of all, not a stallion but a gelding, which meant he’d been neutered, leaving him gentle as a lamb. I told him that the horse’s teeth were very long, which meant he was as old as the hills and was not going anywhere in a hurry. And I also said that I had once been a jockey with racehorses and I knew what I was doing. I promised him that I